


Treasures and Flesh Never Few

by micehell



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Humor, M/M, Smut, dubious consent of a sort... you'll see ;), eensy bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-24
Updated: 2009-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack had warned any number of people over the years that he wasn't always a nice person.  In all that time, though, and with all those people, Jack had never really come across anyone he'd warned <i>after</i> he'd already been not very nice to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasures and Flesh Never Few

**Author's Note:**

> Mold's Golden Cape is one of the many items that the British Museum houses that's under claim by a country that would like it back (not that the BM is the only museum with this problem by any means). In the case of the cape, it's Wales which claims it, which is why I used it here. The other allusion, Thomas Bruce, is because he was the Earl of Elgin who brought the Elgin Marbles to the museum, and Greece has been a might testy about it ever since. *snicker*
> 
> Title from Tool again, this time from _Jambi_.

There had been something familiar about Ianto the first time Jack met him. Something beyond the familiarity of meeting a handsome stranger in a park at night, with the attendant moonlight and romance and Weevil attack.

But Jack had lived a lot more years than he ever wanted to think about by that point, and déjà vu was pretty much a permanent feeling, and, after all, he'd been largely distracted by the handsome stranger, the moonlight, and the Weevil.

~*~

The problem with time loops, Jack decided, was that they bred familiarity. Not that, even nearly five years into the damn thing, he still didn't find John intoxicating. It was just that the hangovers seemed worse, and there was just so far that hair of the dog could get you.

Still, when the Agency sent you on a Snatch'n'Wait, it was good that your partner was someone that could keep you entertained, especially when they weren't telling you up front how many of the damn two week loops you were going to have to wait through. It was all very serious and need to know, all go get this artifact out of the British Museum and sit on it for a while, all don't let anyone know and don't let your time vortex hit you on the ass on your way out the door. In other words, it was typical hurry up and wait bullshit, and he was just glad that he was going to have someone who knew something better to do with his thumbs than twirl them.

The good thing about time loops, Jack knew, was that they made you very familiar with your partner's style, and it took very little effort to navigate through the dark halls of the closed museum, grab the damn scepter (not that Jack could see why anyone would want it, since it was plain and dull and seriously lacking in the pretty), and slip back out again. In fact they were so familiar with each other's style, that Jack knew, before John even started cursing and flailing, when it all went to hell.

Or rather when it all went to heaven, if the pretty little thing in front of them (mouth gaping, and looking like he'd also be cursing and flailing if only he could get over the shock of finding someone _else_ in a closed museum at this time of night) was anything to go on. Jack's mouth watered at the proximity of something that was now, through no fault of Jack's, off the 'don't let anyone know' menu, and had definitely never been on the 'hair of the dog' one.

Now if he could keep it off of John's 'things I want to kill' menu, things might be just be looking up.

The pretty little thing stuttered out a slightly terrified, "It was just supposed to be a prank! Really. My friend… he bet… and I'm really good with electronics… not that I do this kind of thing with them! It was just… and nothing was stolen or damaged, honestly. We would have reset the security, when I was done, and it was just a harmless prank, I swear. A picture of a garden gnome wearing Mold's Golden Cape. You know, one up for Wales vs the British Museum and all."

Jack ignored him for the moment (beyond his toes curling a little at those lovely Welsh vowels), stepping in front of John before there could be any unfortunate consequence from the ongoing flailing. "Hey, it's okay. We had to sit on the scepter for, er, some period of time, so we can sit on him as well. Maybe even literally." He waggled his brows suggestively.

The pretty little thing had still been talking, trying to dig itself out of that last inadvertent hole --"Not that I have anything against the British Museum or their holding onto disputed items claimed by other countries. Not in the least. Up with Thomas Bruce and all that. It's not like Greece isn't full to the hilt with marble statues, after all." -- but he trailed off at Jack's words, quick eyes adding it up with the oddity of their uniforms and all the tech they carried and getting _Something tells me I'm not in Kansas anymore_. It just made Jack leer more, since a large brain was his second favorite organ.

John, however, was already pouting, and Jack (being mind-numbingly familiar with all his little quirks, after all) knew he was going to have to bring out his big guns if he didn't want the pretty little thing to become the pretty little dead thing. And while Jack was no prude, and had certainly pulled the trigger a time or two himself, he liked to keep murder as a last recourse, saving it up for more worthy subjects, like, coincidentally enough, murderers. Well, and mimes, but that just kind of went without saying.

Starting slow with wheedling ("Think of it like Step One of Homicidal Maniacs Anonymous' Twelve Step program"), building to a pout of his own (which had won over the hearts of three interstellar potentates, twenty-four Inner System dignitaries, and absolute legions of Prexlaxians (though, admittedly, Prexlaxians had no lips of their own, and had formed whole religious beliefs around Jack's before he'd left)), he then brought down the full weight of his charm (and pheromones) with a bright display of his dimples and a dirty swipe of his tongue.

Strangely though, it was none of these that finally got John to agree.

Jack had always liked to do a little research on the time periods of their assignments (especially now, when the time loop made getting and fulfilling their assignments a little problematic), and he'd read up on the 21st century before they'd come. He'd found it a very dull time, rife with odd things like Precious Moments figurines and power ballads and weird hang-ups about sexuality and whoring, so he was a little surprised (and a lot aroused), when the pretty little thing piped up with, "You know, I've always wanted to participate in an orgy."

Okay, it was probably more motivated by pragmatism than lust, since the kid still looked fairly terrified, but that was hardly likely to deter John, and (somewhat to Jack's chagrin, after the dimples and the tongue thing) John finally holstered his pistols. He circled the boy, a shark with the smell of blood in the water, and nodded. "Well, Eye Candy, just call me St. Dick, because I'm about to make your wish come true."

Jack spent a minute trying to figure out what St. Dick (in the Kresslian pantheon, the patron saint of pancakes) had to do with wishes, but eventually was distracted by watching predator and prey, torn between amusement at the strained smile the kid gave to John's obvious appraisal and arousal as he found himself torn between which one of them he wanted to fuck more.

Eventually common sense took over (after one fast round of hand jobs, and an only slightly quicker round of introductions), and Jack pulled Ianto close to him, catching him up in the field of his vortex manipulator, all of them leaving the museum behind them, with only Ianto's friend Dafydd (still waiting outside) and a small (hardly noticeable, no matter what Ianto's horrified expression said) stain on Michaelangelo's _Epifania_ to say they'd been there at all.

~*~

It wasn't even John calling Ianto Eye Candy that finally triggered the memory. He'd known Ianto for a couple of years by that point, known him in a lot of ways, so a sense of familiarity was hardly unheard of, and John using a mocking nickname wasn't exactly unusual either.

The thing that finally triggered the memory was all of them getting, pathetically enough, mugged.

They'd been coming back from a night at the pub, relaxed and a little floating, and so unused to looking towards _wordly_ dangers that they hadn't even noticed the van that was parked in the shadows of one (perfectly ordinary) alley. There were only five men in the van, hardly the biggest threat they'd ever faced, but they'd been surprised and at the wrong end of the guns, and while Jack knew he could rush them, could take them on without consequence, at least any lasting one, the gun pointed at Ianto, the one pointed at Gwen, those had too much consequence, too permanent a conclusion. So all Jack could do was give up his wallet, bristle at the names they called Gwen, and clench his fists helplessly when one of them struck Ianto across the face with his gun just for the hell of it.

Ianto had just smiled at him afterwards (lopsided with the swelling), and said it was nothing a little bit of ice and taking a taxi from now on wouldn't cure.

But for Jack, those swollen lips, the pale, bruised skin, weren't so easily shrugged off.

~*~

Jack had to say that for someone who'd only agreed to the orgy to save his life, Ianto really gave it his all. It was obvious he'd never given a blow job before, but he was definitely a quick student, and a pretty devoted one at that. He'd kiss and lick and suck on Jack's dick until even Jack had had enough (and, really, Jack could count on two fingers (the two John had pressed deep into Ianto's ass)) the number of times _that_ had happened).

It was also pretty obvious that Ianto had never been fucked before, but he seemed to take to that too, moans that vibrated around Jack, buried deep in Ianto's throat, as John hips slapped against Ianto's ass; small breathless cries as Ianto rode Jack's dick like the finest of cowboys.

Both John and Jack agreed, though, that if Ianto had never fucked someone before, then he was… well, a _fucking_ savant, because he had size, style, and stamina (the holy trinity), and there were any number of times (when Ianto held Jack's hips hard in his hands, and his dick was held hard in Jack's body; when Jack's knees were pressed to his chest, and Ianto's lips were pressed to his own) that Jack could wish that Ianto was the one caught in the loop with him.

As it was, they didn't even get one full loop with him before the Agency told them that they could put the scepter back.

And to make sure that no one knew who had done so.

Jack ignored John's insistence that they'd be doing Ianto a favor if they killed him, since he'd likely kill himself after they left, his life empty and meaningless without John's dick in it. Instead he did a little more research on the 21st century, and found that some silly little secret organization had managed to create an amnesia pill, not unlike the Retcon the Agency used.

They ported into the super secret headquarters (super secretly hidden right in the heart of London, which made even Ianto roll his eyes) that night and grabbed some (and then popped back to their ship for one last quick orgy, since, as John had so aptly stated, it wasn't like Ianto would _know_ later).

They left Ianto back at his flat the next morning, eyes already growing heavy with the drug. He looked somewhat (or, rather, a lot) like a victim of a mugging, with bruises dotting his body, only partially hidden by long-absent clothes, his lips red and swollen. But he was smiling dazedly at Jack (though that might have been the drug), and looking only slightly terrified by John (that might have been the drug, too), so, all in all, Jack figured it was a successful mission all the way around.

~*~

Jack had warned any number of people over the years that he wasn't always a nice person. That he had, in fact, been a not very nice person at all for parts of his life. And sometimes the people he'd warned had seen glimpses of that; seen the darkness that need and greed had sown in him. Sewn to him like Peter Pan's shadow.

In all that time, though, and with all those people, Jack had never really come across anyone he'd warned _after_ he'd already been not very nice to them.

Not that Ianto remembered, of course. The Retcon had held, even through Ianto winding up working for the damn silly super secret organization, and even through being threatened by John again. Hell, even through Ianto winding up with Jack again.

It bothered Jack, what that more callous part of him had done to Ianto, the coercion he'd so easily dismissed as of little consequence when compared to the great sex. He told himself he was happy that Ianto hadn't remembered, that he hadn't had to live with the memories of what had been done (though skillfully, and with a hefty amount of orgasms thrown in for good measure) to him .

Jack told himself that, anyway, but he didn't really mean it. While he was, at least usually, a nice person now, he could well admit that he wasn't exactly a _modest_ person, and it bothered him that Ianto didn't remember him. Not after everything they'd been up to for the last year.

But he had to put Ianto first, at least this time, so Jack promised himself that he wouldn't bring it up.

~*~

He kept the promise for almost three days, which, Jack felt, showed an incredible amount of self-restraint.

Ianto was kissing him, the pressure from his lips light on one side, stronger on the other, the split in his lip only newly not swollen, the bruise across his cheek waning from purple and red to brown and green. Jack brushed it with his thumb, and waited until Ianto came up for air to ask, "Do you remember when we first met?"

"The park, the moonlight, the Weevils? That Captain Jack Harkness special blend of romance and terror? How could I forget?" Ianto laughed, trying to go back to what he'd been doing.

But Jack held him back. "Was that it? We didn't meet before then at all? Like, maybe when you were in Torchwood One?"

Ianto looked at him for a moment, his forehead scrunched as if he were worried about Jack's sanity. "I never saw you when I worked for Torchwood One. Not that I shouldn't have, since Yvonne scheduled you for quarterly meetings, but you never actually showed up for them. She… was slightly miffed about that."

It was Jack's turn to laugh, knowing well what Yvonne had been like when she was 'slightly miffed.' But he tried again. "Maybe somewhere else then. I just… I really think I've met you before."

Somewhat distractedly, Ianto said, "You have met me before, Jack," and then ground his hips into Jack's, apparently trying to get his attention back on track. Either that or destroy it altogether.

Jack wasn't so easily distracted, though, and he had every intention of bringing up the British Museum, garden gnomes, and that (really, hardly noticeable) stain on the _Epifania_ , whatever he had to, until the Retcon finally lost its hold on Ianto's memories.

Then Ianto did this little _shimmy_ , that Jack felt all the way through his body, and all Jack could think about was _more_.

~*~

The next night there was a small Weevil uprising, which Jack felt was probably not the best time for relationship discussions.

~*~

Then there were the Mosquitoes the Size of Housecats (Gwen's name), aka the Bloody Pains in the Ass (Ianto's version, with good reason). As Ianto hadn't been able to sit properly (and not for any _good_ reason) for several days after that, Jack thought it best to let it go for the moment.

~*~

Then there was Ianto's wanting to not be able to sit properly for a _very_ good reason, and Jack didn't really have the desire (nor breath) to bring it up after that.

~*~

When Ianto wound up turning into a Mosquito the Size of Ianto (Martha's name, though she assured him that he'd be good as new as soon as the corrective gene therapy took), Jack started wondering if it were a sign from some kind of god. Maybe St. Dick.

He also started drinking fairly heavily, and he blamed that, as well as his frustration, for the whole calling John up thing. After all, drunk dialing your ex (even if you had to do it using an advanced piece of tech that needed a Rift to power it) was kind of a universal thing. He certainly felt he was perfectly justified in shouting at the other man, "Why didn't you tell me that Ianto was Ianto?"

John (being in his own head instead of Jack's) didn't understand what the hell he was talking about, plus was rather engaged at the time (Jack couldn't tell if it was alcohol, drugs, sex, or murder, and he was pretty sure he didn't really want to know), so he wound up doing that other kind of universal thing of hanging up on your drunk dialing ex, and Jack wound up spending the rest of the evening trying to drink his way through the alphabet (amaretto, beer, crème de menthe).

He never did find out if he just passed out, or if he actually managed to kill himself somewhere around the Sambuca.

~*~

At the end of the week, Ianto was once again more interested in Jack's ass for its sexual qualities rather than as a light snack, and John had shown up.

Right around the same time, sadly, but Jack guessed that your ex walking in on you while you were getting fucked good and proper, while not as universal as drunk dialing, was certainly a little too common in Jack's personal history.

"Bloody fucking Christ!" was apparently Ianto's opinion on the whole thing.

John (being in his own head instead of a normal human being's) sat down on the bed, eyeing them with a critical expression. But he shrugged, letting bygones fuck the way they wanted to, and asked instead, "What did you mean by 'why didn't you tell me Ianto was Ianto'?"

Considering that Ianto was still being Ianto right beside Jack (and a fair bit inside him, too), Jack didn't really think that now was the time to talk about it. But Ianto was doing the scrunchy forehead thing again, and John wasn't known for taking clues, so Jack just sighed, knowing he was doomed. "I meant, why didn't you tell me we'd met him before?"

And though reason and John were hardly that well acquainted, Jack had to give him that he might have a point when he said, "Uh, because I thought you remembered, especially since you were obviously fucking him again? Or he was obviously fucking you again, I guess I should say." He laughed at his joke, even though no one else did.

"Bloody fucking Christ on a pogo stick," was Ianto's new opinion. Before Jack could get him to clarify whether it was related to the interruption, John's joke, or the whole meeting thing, Ianto asked, "You remember? Odd. I really thought you'd Retconned it away somehow."

Jack turned to look at him, momentarily getting distracted when Ianto slipped out of him, but grabbing hold of the very important thing he meant to address before the whole distraction thing. " _You_ remember? I mean, I know I Retconned you."

Ianto shrugged. "Yes, and it lasted all of about two seconds after I woke up and wondered why the hell my ass hurt. Didn't you think it was a little odd I wound up with Torchwood if I didn't remember breaking into it?"

And, damn it, he had thought it was weird, but then Jack had lived his entire life with that kind of coincidence happening (really, Dickens had nothing on whoever was writing Jack's life), and he hadn't really thought about it. "Why didn't you say something, then?"

Trying to appear unconcerned (though Jack knew him far too well for that to work now), Ianto shrugged again. "You never showed any signs of remembering. I just thought… well, that maybe you'd had to Retcon yourself for whatever mission you'd been on."

Jack knew him far too well to buy that, either. He'd thought that Jack just hadn't found him memorable. Which Jack hadn't, really, but that was nothing to do with Ianto, and everything to do with the fact that one week, no matter how good, hadn't stood much chance against the volume of weeks Jack had lived through. The past hundred years or so Jack had made an effort to hold onto, but a lot of his Time Agency days, and the not so nice years that followed, Jack had deliberately ignored.

And that week had definitely had the not so nice parts to it. Hot as hell, and perfect for Jack and John, but for Ianto? That wasn't the type of memory Jack was proud of. "I'm sorry, Ianto. I really am."

The scrunchy forehead went scrunchier. "I hardly think you can be held responsible for not remembering something that happened a lot longer ago for you than it was for me."

"No. I mean yes, but no, not what I apologizing for. I meant I was sorry for… well, for coercing you into something that you didn't want to do."

Ianto face cleared, understanding coming into it. Amusement as well. "Oh. Right. Well, yes, it wasn't exactly something I'd meant to do, by any means. Sex with two strangers, especially when one of them was obviously something of a psychopath-"

"Hey, I'm right here." John had found Jack's gun, and had been fondling it with the same kind of attention Jack usually reserved for, well, Ianto, but he looked up at that. He didn't stop fondling the gun, but Jack knew it would take far more than little truth to get that to happen.

"Wasn't on my to-do list by any means," Ianto blithely continued, "but it worked out okay."

Jack, wondering if Ianto had repressed the trauma in some way, said, "But you were still frightened of John, even at the end of the week. How was that okay?"

"Yes, well, there was the whole psychopath thing-"

"Still here." John waved his hand, though thankfully not the one the gun was in.

"And there was the whole murder addiction problem, but he was still pretty hot. You have to give him that."

John preened a little, giving the gun a little waggle, apparently as a salute to Ianto's good taste.

Now it was Jack's forehead that was scrunching up. "His being hot made up for the psychopath thing?"

"Hey! _Still_ … you know what, never mind. At least some people appreciate me." He gave the gun a little pat.

Jack thought about pointing out that it wasn't a person, and that if it was, it would probably share the whole murder addiction thing, but then Ianto reminded him that there were (theoretically) sane people to talk to.

"Well, his being hot, and your being hot, too. Plus there was that whole thing where I'd also found the ship's internal defense system that first night while you were both asleep, so if things got out of hand, I could always have just gassed the two of you and made a run for it."

In retrospect, Jack was a little disturbed by the fact that both John and he had been arrogant enough to not set a guard when they'd had an obviously not fully willing guest on board, but then he remembered how fantastic the sex had been, and how much of it they'd had, and figured it was only Ianto's youth that had let him have enough energy to look around, anyway.

Plus, the thought of Ianto being able to figure out their internal defense system when he'd never been exposed to that kind of tech before, and after he'd been fucked into what should have been a coma, reminded Jack that a large brain was his second favorite organ, and he let go of past mistakes in favor of taking hold of Ianto.

Which was going well, right up until John put the gun down and rubbed his hands together, saying, "Right, so that's all settled, then. And since I have no places to be, no people to kill, how about a little orgy for old times' sake?"

Jack looked at Ianto, and Ianto shrugged. "Still a psychopath, still addicted, still pretty hot."

"Yeah, as long as you take him in small doses, he _can_ be pretty fun."

John pouted, giving a brief glance back to the gun. "Still right here," he told it.

And so he was. Jack smiled, looking at both of them, feeling that old sense of familiarity.

~*~

The great thing about familiarity, Jack decided (after he finally woke up from what had been the hottest sex of his _very_ long life), was that while the novelty was gone and the mysteries were few, the _history_ just kept getting better and better.

/story


End file.
